


Nobody Can Save Me

by Lush_Specimen



Series: Hotlock History [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lush_Specimen/pseuds/Lush_Specimen
Summary: Taking place some time after the events Rodimus described as the first meeting of Hot Rod and Deadlock inNunya BusinessHaving lost contact with the fiery speedster, Deadlock settled into the violent routine of constant warfare. He rapidly climbed the Decepticon ranks through his legendary ferocity. Now, on the cusp of victory against some vastly out-numbered Autobot forces on a distant world, he hears news that sends ice running through his fuel lines.Turmoil ordered the capture of an Autobot prisoner to be used as a bargaining chip. His notoriously brutal Delta Squad grabbed a runt from Nyon. Hot Rod was from Nyon. But... There's no way it could be him. Right?
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus
Series: Hotlock History [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584421
Comments: 52
Kudos: 130





	1. Flame Decals

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title comes from a Linkin Park song. And continues the stupid nicknames and wordplay established in [Nunya Business](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689110/chapters/51730402). I apologize for nothing!!

“Is that all _sir_!” Deadlock snarled. He spat the honorific like an insult. 

Turmoil glanced up from the large map of the battlefield on the planet below highlighted with glowing purple and red areas to mark the Decepticon and Autobot held territories. Their army had made significant advances today due to Deadlock’s legendary ferocity. Although Turmoil already knew the battle's specifics, he insisted that Deadlock attend the official debriefing, much to his dismay. 

After another day of fearsome warfare, they withdrew to their Worldsweeper to regroup and plan the next day’s strategy. Their ship held a hidden orbit in a nearby asteroid field. Close enough to keep the ground troops fully supplied but far enough away that the Autobot scanners couldn't find them. They had also managed to destroy every incoming supply ship carrying Autobot reinforcements, isolating their troops from any hope of assistance. As long as they could keep up this deadly game of hide and seek, their victory here was inevitable. 

“Yes. Of course.” Turmoil muttered like he forgot he left Deadlock standing at attention for the past hour. “You are dismissed.” 

“Thank you.” Deadlock growled without a trace of gratitude. He spun around and stalked towards to the exit, glad to be free of Turmoil’s passive aggressive power play. When he finally achieves his own command, he wouldn’t have to tolerate this scrap from anyone. 

“One more thing.” 

Deadlock halted, canting his finials back. Done with stupid games, he didn’t bother turning to face Turmoil. “What.” He said flatly, with no tonal inflections to indicate that he hoped for an answer. 

“The Delta team brought an Autobot prisoner on board.” 

“WHAT?!” Deadlock whirled around in a rage, snarling the word with enough venom to curdle motor oil. “What in the seven hells for?!” 

“They were following MY orders.” Turmoil rose to his full impressive height, towering over him. 

“Well. Then YOU are as fragging stupid as they are.” Deadlock bristled. If Turmoil thought he could intimidate him, he had another thing coming. “Prisoners are a waste of resources. Enemies are to be killed. Plain and simple.” Whenever he saw his enemies, he killed them. Every time. Without mercy. In the unlikely event that his enemies saw him before death took them, they ran. 

“So charming.” Turmoil laughed. He dropped a heavy hand onto Deadlock’s shoulder, which he immediately shook off. His plating twitched at the unexpected contact. Turmoil ought to consider himself fortunate Deadlock didn’t rip that arm off and beat him with it. “Lucky for us, the Autobots don’t share your murderous philosophy. Ever since they managed to capture Bonecrusher, the rest of the Constructicons have been desperately clamoring to get him back. Aside from their bizarre devotion to their hapless comrade, they can’t form Devastator without him.” 

Deadlock narrowed his optics. There it was. Turmoil never did anything that didn’t directly serve his own ambitions. If he could hand Megatron a weapon as powerful as the fearsome gestalt, Turmoil would make a real name for himself. Ambition aside, Devastator would provide an unmatched tactical advantage. It didn’t change Deadlock’s mind about prisoners though. If you couldn’t overpower your enemies on the battlefield, you deserved death. Quick and efficient. 

“As I reward, I let them have their fun. He doesn’t need to be in one piece and I don’t plan on wasting any resources on him. He can survive a few days without fuel. I just need him alive so I can get the Autobots to agree to an exchange.” Turmoil shrugged. “According to their reports, they grabbed the runt that burned Nyon to dust. He should be worth at least one Constructicon.” 

“You finished?” Deadlock growled, clenching his fists hard enough to dent his palms. He cut wide swaths of unrelenting destruction through his enemies without hesitation. Hell, he’d shoot his own soldiers if they disobeyed orders, but something about torture never sat right with him. It took him back to the dark alleys of the Dead End. He’d been beaten to the brink of fade out himself too many times by those bigger, stronger, or more sober to ever condone it. 

“Quite.” Turmoil turned back to his map. “We’ll strike this area tomorrow morning. See that you are prepared.” 

Deadlock nodded and stormed out of the command center with a fanged sneer. He flexed his fingers before he damaged his joints. Turmoil’s comment about the prisoner unsettled him. His hand absentmindedly rubbed a ragged weld scar than ran across his upper thigh. Hot Rod, the feisty Autobot speedster that saved his life when the Iron Bridge fell, was from Nyon. It had to be a coincidence. 

Not in the mood to deal with anyone, Deadlock flared his plating and stalked down the hall like he was on his way to rip Optimus Prime’s spark from his chest with his bare hands. Any other soldiers unfortunate enough to cross his path scuttled away in fear or shrank into the shadows until he passed. 

Normally using his murder strut to clear his path filled him with a heady sense of primal confidence. Today it brought him no joy. He couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease in his spark. Hot Rod was a naive idiot with big dreams who wanted to be friends with a bot that tried to shoot him. Surely, he must have been killed in action shortly after they met. Besides, Turmoil said their prisoner destroyed Nyon. Although the destruction of the city weighed heavily on the little speedster, Deadlock didn’t think he actually caused it. There was no way that he could be the prisoner in question. Right? 

Lost in the memory of carefree laughter and stupid nicknames, Deadlock rounded the corner and slammed into three members of Turmoil’s Delta squad. Large, heavily armored, and sadistic without purpose. He rarely worked with them and never bothered to learn their names. If they ever changed their paintwork, he’d never recognize them. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re-” The tall green one shouted as he wobbled on unsteady legs, nearly toppling backwards. Deadlock narrowed his optics in silence. “OH SCRAP! Deadlock?! I- I mean: Sorry, sir!!” All three snapped to attention. 

Deadlock’s sneer curled into a wicked grin, enjoying the intoxicating rush of power and authority. He outranked them all and they knew it. Reputation preceding him, even Turmoil’s precious Delta Squad cowered in his presence. Deadlock drew himself up and stared them down. 

Evaluating their battered condition, Deadlock kept his face impassive despite his confusion. These three massive bruisers looked like they just went several rounds in the pits of Kaon. They all sported a myriad of dents marked with shimmering gold paint. The right arm of the bulky blue one was scorched and blackened all the way to his struts like he tried to wrangle an inferno barehanded. The purple one lost an eye, broken wires sparking in an empty socket. The tall green one limped along, left leg missing a fair portion of its knee assembly. Debilitating burns, gouged eyes, and busted knee caps? Whoever they tangled with knew how to fight ferociously dirty. 

Deadlock’s audials twitched, picking up the soft patter of dripping fluids. Although all of their hands appeared uninjured, bright pink energon dripped freely from their knuckles. A disturbing amount of it. 

“The battle ended hours ago.” Deadlock growled. “Why haven’t you gone to check in at the medibay?” 

“We already did, sir.” The purple one replied, without meeting his optics. 

“Is that so? You look like rusted scrap.” Deadlock folded his arms. “Are you saying that Flatline takes such poor care of his soldiers?” 

“NO!! No sir!” The tall green one yelped, shifting nervously on his injured leg. “This stuff happened after that.” 

Deadlock grinned. Flatline would refuse treatment to anyone that disparaged his work. If you valued your life, you kept on the medic’s good side. 

“We were just having a bit of fun with the Autobot prisoner.” The bulky blue one piped up, his incinerated excuse for an arm dangling limp at his side. “Turmoil said we could.” 

Deadlock ground his teeth, fighting against the nightmare of being pinned down and tortured on the streets of Rodion. How many times did he beg his tormentors to just kill him? But death never came. His mood took a turn for the worse. “Turmoil also wants him alive.” 

“His spark still flickered when we left.” The purple one shrugged, keeping his one functioning optic fixed on the floor. “Besides, he wasn’t that hard to catch. If he dies, we’ll just grab another one.” 

“We leave for another raid tomorrow morning.” Deadlock snapped, trigger fingers twitching. “Anyone not ready will be shot.” 

All their crimson optics widened. The dangling wires protruding from the purple one’s empty socket fizzled a shower of sparks. “Yes, sir!” 

“Get outta my sight,” Deadlock commanded, engine rumbling a low growl. 

They took off together and hurried around the corner, fleeing Deadlock’s murderous authority. He leaned back against the wall and drew his one of his numerous pistols taking comfort in its familiar weight. Deadlock turned the weapon over in his hands, half hoping they wouldn’t be ready in the morning so he could shoot them. He held the gun up in firing position, checking the sight. Maybe he’d have the opportunity to kill them in the heat of battle. Stray shots happen all the time. 

After a few moments of blessed silence, Delta squad resumed their casual conversation regarding the prisoner. Their harsh laughter echoed down the hall and grated on every single one of Deadlock’s circuits. Shivering at the ghostly grasp of rough hands on his plating, Deadlock racked the slide to chamber a round in his pistol. Never again. No one would ever treat him that way again. The Decepticons took him in, gave him purpose and power to spare. Now HE was the nightmare lurking in the shadows. 

Venting a long sigh, he holstered his sidearm. Fragging Turmoil. Fragging Autobot. They should be trying to win the war by killing their enemies, not leveraging prisoners for personal gain. If Bonecrusher was stupid enough to get caught by the Autobots, then that was his affair. Let the Constructicons get him themselves. He shouldn’t have to put up with this scrap. Deadlock turned to leave when one comment amidst their fading laughter, barely on the edge of audial range, caught his attention. 

“What kind of idiot paints himself with so many flame decals anyways?” 

Deadlock’s spark stopped his chest. A very specific kind of idiot. In fact, Deadlock could only think of one.


	2. Ulterior Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadlock can't shake his growing sense of unease. While his processor runs around in circles, he finds himself outside the doors to their prison block. Since he's already there, it couldn't hurt just to check just to make sure that it wasn't Hot Rod's energon splashed allover Delta squad...

Deadlock’s mind raced. All the evidence fell into place: an Autobot runt from Nyon, gold paint scuffs, and the most damning detail, gaudy flame decals. 

But it simply couldn’t be. It had to be some wild coincidence. Maybe they captured some ex-gladiator. A flame-throwing golden tank too stupid to avoid his enemies. That had to be it. After all the Delta squad looked like they had been kicked around by the dirtiest brawler this side of the Kaon arena. There was no way someone like Hot Rod knew how to fight like that. Then again, he did go toe to toe with a monstercon without hesitation. 

He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. He was Deadlock, second in command of a Decepticon Worldsweeper on the cusp of victory against a remote Autobot outpost. Why should he be concerned about a random prisoner? But... What if said prisoner is one of the few people that actually seemed to care about him? One who risked his own life to save him with no ulterior motive? 

Shaking his head to dispel the gentle touch of Hot Rod cheerfully tending his wounds, Deadlock struggled to get his vent fans under control. Hot Rod had taken on a mythical status in his memories. The runty speedster wanted to protect him. Which didn’t make any sense since Deadlock held the advantage in both size and strength. Despite the absurdity of it all, he found it oddly comforting. In some ways, it was all he ever wanted. Simply visualizing Hot Rod’s carefree smile drove away lingering nightmares of his days struggling for survival in the Dead End. He found it less disturbing to imagine Hot Rod as dead than locked away in some torture chamber. The slightest possibility of that smile twisting into a scream of pain filled him with cold dread and white-hot rage. 

Finally mastering his legs, he took a few steps. His foot slipped in something wet. Catching himself before he fell, Deadlock grimaced when he glanced down. A trail of fresh energon spots that dripped from Delta squads’ fists splattered the hall floor, leading down towards the prison block. 

He didn’t have time for all this drama. He needed to recharge. They had another raid planned for tomorrow. Focus on that. Averting his optics so he didn’t have to see all the energon glistening on floor, Deadlock slowly shuffled back to his quarters on autopilot. His legs felt like lead. Putting one in front of the other seemed to get harder and harder the more he went. 

It was impossible. Too much of a coincidence. What are the odds? 

There was no way in hell that the Autobot currently imprisoned in the bowels of their ship could be Hot Rod. If he repeated that mantra enough times to himself, maybe he could believe it. His brain rotated through entertaining the possibility that they captured Hot Rod and then denying it and then right back around to the beginning. 

After what felt like an eternity, Deadlock bumped into a closed door. He glanced around at unfamiliar surroundings, perplexed. That wasn’t the door to his quarters. Somehow, lost in his thoughts, he had wandered all the way down to the prison block. He stood before the thick iron doors and icy dread gripped his spark. Fresh energon splattered the lock. 

The lights flickered, catching on deep gouges in the rusty floor. They rarely used this area, so maintenance fell behind the rest of the ship. Usually the only people they locked up were drunk Decepticons that couldn’t hold their engex and that only happened after an astounding victory or a staggering defeat. Before today, no one had been down here in ages. 

Deadlock lightly thumped his forehead on the locked door. What was he doing? He shouldn’t get involved. But he since he already come so far, there couldn’t be any harm in just checking. Once he verifies that the prisoner isn’t Hot Rod, he’d recharge a lot easier. 

Punching his command code into the keypad, Deadlock eased the heavy door open. He cautiously peered inside, adjusting his optics to function in the darkness. A small light flickered in the last cell at the end of the hall, shining defiantly against the gloom. It immediately reminded Deadlock of Hot Rod’s torch. Clinging to his denial, Deadlock crept silently towards the light. 

Anxiety gnawed at his spark with each step he took. Deadlock was so focused on his destination that he didn’t see a piece of broken plating in his path. When he kicked the twisted shard of bright gold metal, it jingled sharply as it skittered across the floor. At the sound, the light instantly went out. Deadlock rushed forward, curiosity mixing with a mounting sense of unease. 

When he looked through the charred and blackened bars on the last cell, his spark stopped. 

Deadlock didn’t notice the dents in the walls or the scorch marks on the ceiling. He ignored the bright slick of fresh energon puddling on the floor and the scattered shards of gold plating glinting in the dim light. He blocked out the lingering scent of rust and ashes that hung in the air. He only had eyes for the mangled mass of flame colored armor huddled motionless in the corner. 

What should he do? Call out? His voice wouldn’t cooperate. 

What should he do? Open the door? He had to get inside. 

What should he do? Enter the security codes to unlock the door? His fingers wavered above the number pad. He should know this. 

Static filled his brain. 

Frustrated by his own uncertainty, he slammed his fist into the uncooperative number pad. A shower of sparks fizzled against his armor. Deadlock growled and gripped the bars with all his strength, joints squealing with the strain. With a ferocious howl, he ripped the door clean off its hinges and cast it aside. The moment he crossed the threshold, all of his rage chilled to fear. His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. 

It was impossible. Too much of a coincidence. What are the odds? 

Somehow, he still tried to deny what his own optics saw. The terrible truth laid bare. 

The crumpled Autobot in front of him couldn’t be anyone else. Even with his back turned towards Deadlock, the paint work was a dead giveaway. What kind of idiot paints himself with so many flame decals? 

Deadlock’s overheating vent fans whined. Despite all the noise he made breaking in to the cell, Hot Rod hadn’t moved. 

Overwhelmed by the sight before him, Deadlock clenched his fists. Hot Rod remained motionless. Energon ran in shining rivulets down his bright plating from a myriad of deep gashes slicing across his back. Dents and brutal cracks marred his entire frame. Only half of his spoiler remained. The half had been cracked off and shattered, the broken shards strewn about the cell. 

Hot Rod didn’t hesitate to repair Deadlock back in the Sonic Canyon. At the very least he owed him the same. With the amount of time he spent thinking about Hot Rod since that day, Deadlock felt like he owed him significantly more. How do you repay someone for chasing away your nightmares? 

Flexing his fingers to gather his confidence, Deadlock tentatively reached out. When his trembling hand hovered over Hot Rod’s shoulder, a golden hand whipped up and grabbed his wrist with unexpected strength. Before Deadlock could react, Hot Rod violently yanked him forward just as he raised his other elbow and cracked him right in the face. 

Deadlock stumbled backwards, pain exploding from his nose. He crashed into the wall behind him and fell. His hands instinctively went to his injured face, and quickly filled with his own energon. 

Hot Rod leapt up without sparing him a glance and frantically leapt for the open door. He didn’t even make it one full step before his wounded legs buckled beneath him in a shower of sparks. He crumpled in heap. Venting a shuddering gasp, Hot Rod lifted himself up on his elbows and crawled. 

“I think you broke my fragging nose.” Deadlock groaned. He turned and spat out the energon that bled into his mouth. 

At the sound of his voice, Hot Rod froze. Finally turning towards him, Hot Rod huffed a short bark of laughter that was equal parts disbelief and relief. 

“Deadlock?” Static garbled his voice. Although uncertain at first, smile slowly spread across his battered face. 

Despite his own broken nose bleeding freely through his fingers, Deadlock winced at Hot Rod’s condition. One cerulean optic had gone completely dark. A crack in his helm streamed energon down his face, pooling around his darkened optic and spilling over his cheek. Despite looking like something a turbofox threw up, Hot Rod managed to flash one of the carefree grins that danced through Deadlock’s dreams. 

“It IS you!” Hot Rod’s functioning optic flared brightly, bathing Deadlock in soft blue light. “Oh scrap! I am SO sorry!” He turned aside from the open door and reached out without the slightest hesitation, “Here. Let me see.” 

Deadlock's circuits locked up as Hot Rod took his face in his bloodied hands. Most of the glittering gold paint was scuffed off onto Delta squad's armor, leaving Hot Rod's busted knuckles a dull matte gray. Engine rumbling, Deadlock pressed his palms flat against the cold floor, desperately resisting the urge to punch something. He made up his mind to shoot Delta squad whether they were ready in the morning or not. 

“Good news!” Hot Rod chirped. He trailed his fingers lightly on either side of Deadlock’s nose. Despite the pain, he relaxed under Hot Rod's gentle touch. “I don’t think it’s broken. Probably, the plating's dislocated. If I just-” Hot Rod quickly pressed down on one side of Deadlock’s face while deftly manipulating the errant plate back into place. 

Deadlock’s circuits lit up with pain as his nose shifted with an audible crack. 

“OWW! DAMMIT!!” he roared, grabbing at his face again. At least the bleeding stopped. “That fragging hurt!” 

“Yeah.” Hot Rod leaned heavily on him for support. Deadlock didn’t dare push him away. “That’s kinda the whole point. I didn’t mean to hurt YOU though. I thought-” he faltered for a second. “I thought you were someone else. I can’t see so good right now and a surprise attack only works while it’s still a surprise.” 

Once his own pain receptors reset and his vision focused, Deadlock shuddered at Hot Rod’s horrific condition. Aside from all the visible dents, gashes, and lacerations, something hollow rattled in his chest every time he moved and static bleed into the edges of his words. A few dull silver weld seams glinted across his chest. Although he started patching himself, he needed so much help. Much more than Deadlock could provide. Possibly even more than Flatline’s skill could handle. 

After his initial defiant burst of energy, Hot Rod slumped against Deadlock’s chest. Hot Rod grinned and somehow it caused Deadlock more pain than his own damaged face. “I’m glad it’s you though. I was pretty worried about you after we last parted ways. I’m really happy that you’re okay.” 

“Umm...” Unsure of how to respond, Deadlock squirmed. When Hot Rod hissed in pain, he instantly froze. How could Hot Rod find the kindness in his spark to be concerned about him when he was beaten to the brink of fade out? Instead of something comforting, Deadlock blurted out the foremost thought in his mind, “You look terrible.” 

“You should’ve seen the other guys!” Hot Rod’s laughter quickly devolved into a wet hacking cough. Deadlock grimaced. It sounded like energon bled into his vocal processor. Hot Rod eased himself into a seated position beside Deadlock, arranging his sluggish limbs as comfortably as possible. Instead of leaning back against the wall, Hot Rod slouched sideways, against Deadlock’s solid shoulder. Although his plating twitched at the close contact, Deadlock had no desire to move. 

“I did. They looked like they went three rounds in the pits with Kaon's most brutal gladiator. I can’t believe YOU did that to them. Even though it was three massive brawlers against one tiny nobody? Where did you learn to fight like that?” 

“That’s none of your business.” Hot Rod smirked. 

Deadlock blinked. He had hoped that his bringing up the term “nobody” that Hot Rod used to refer to himself last time they met might bring some familiar comfort to the wounded speedster. He hadn’t expected him to go and throw his own nickname back at him. His sparked stuttered in his chest. Hot Rod’s courageous resilience surprised him. How could he remain so defiantly playful in the face of such terrible pain? 

A fierce protectiveness ignited inside Deadlock. He clenched his fists, engine growling. As long as he was around, no one would touch Hot Rod with ill intent ever again. He’d figure out the logistics later. 

“I could have taken them out all the way. But, if I didn’t let them win, then the plan wouldn’t have worked.” Hot Rod continued with a shrug. 

“Plan?” Deadlock’s finials perked up. “What are you talking about?” 

“Well...” Hot Rod chewed his split bottom lip and winced. “Ow.” 

“Hot Rod.” Deadlock rumbled. He never considered that an Autobot might get captured on purpose. Delta squad even commented on the relative ease of grabbing their prisoner. Anger boiled up inside him. Autobot Command had to know the type of treatment a prisoner would endure in Decepticon custody. Engine revving loudly, Deadlock bristled at the thought. “Who ordered you to do this?” 

“Pfft! Order?” Hot Rod laughed. It quickly turning into another coughing fit, although this time significantly weaker than before. Deadlock’s anger mixed with fear. “Are you kidding? This whole thing was my idea. When I explained it to Optimus, he expressly forbad anyone to attempt it. Said it was ‘too dangerous’.” Hot Rod mimed air quotes with his shaky fingers. 

“Attempt what?” 

“Duh! Getting captured with an active locator beacon so we could find your ship. No offense, Deadlock, but we need supplies really badly. Everyone is sharing what little energon we have left, but I’m done watching friends starve to death. After I- After Nyon burned, I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen ever again. If it takes a few dents and a little spilled energon to get the job done, then so be it. I can handle it.” His expression darkened and he turned slightly away. He hugged his knees to his chest despite the screeching of his damaged joints. “Sometimes I think I deserve it.” He muttered quietly. 

Deadlock canted his finials back. Back alley brawler techniques? Friends starving to death? Apparently, Deadlock didn’t know half of what he thought he did about Nyon. He had no idea what to with that admission, especially the last part. 

“No one deserves this.” He growled, gesturing to Hot Rod’s energon splashed all over the cell. Shutting his optics, Deadlock choked back the memory of watching his own energon slowly flow down the gutters in the Dead End after a savage beating left him crumpled in a deserted alley. Desperate to change the subject, Deadlock focused on a logical gap in Hot Rod’s plan. “But... If Optimus refused your idea, how will they even know to look for you?” 

“That’s where our trusty doc-bot comes in.” Hot Rod sagged against Deadlock’s side, biolights dimming. In the back of his processor, Deadlock knew that detail was significant, but the mention of a doctor caught his undivided attention. “Before I snuck out on my personal spy mission, I slipped a note into Ratchet’s daily patient reports. He reads them all every morning. Once he realizes what I’ve done, he’ll tell Optimus and Optimus will follow my locator. Then: Bang! Bang! Bye-bye Worldsweeper!” 

“Ratchet?” Deadlock whispered. The lone bright light in all of the Dead End and the only person from that part of his life that he actually wants to remember. He was here? With the Autobots? 

“Yeah.” Hot Rod sighed with a crooked smile, pressing heavier against Deadlock. “You know him?” 

Memories of the kind medic patching him up flooded his processor. Deadlock just nodded. 

“Grumpy as all hell but he really cares. You know? He’s probably gonna kill me though. I can hear the lecture already.” Hot Rod jabbed a finger at an imaginary opponent and lowered his voice to a comical gruffness. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?! I’ve got half a mind to weld you to this table to keep you out of trouble!” 

“Ratchet!” Deadlock exclaimed, struck with hope. 

“Yeah.” Hot Rod snickered softly. This time spurred no coughing, only a hollow rattle in his chest. “You just said that. Is there an echo in here?” 

Deadlock rolled his optics. With Hot Rod’s systems slowly shutting down, how can he find the energy or the courage to be silly? Deadlock could handle field repairs but he didn’t know where to start fixing so many grievous wounds on such a slight frame. Hot Rod needed the attention of an extremely skilled medic. If anyone could save the stupidly brave speedster, it was Ratchet. Deadlock wouldn’t trust Hot Rod with anyone else; he deserved the best. All Deadlock had to do was slip a seriously injured prisoner off the massive, heavily armed Worldsweeper, then somehow get him safely across the front lines to the enemy faction and find the medic that saved his own life ages ago. Simple. 

“Ratchet can fix this whole situation.” Deadlock waved his hand vaguely around Hot Rod. 

“Sure.” Hot Rod vented a long shuddering sigh. “Provided he doesn’t murder me first,” he added with a slight smile. 

They had to get moving before Delta squad decided to try for round two. Deadlock struggled to come up with something other than his go-to strategy of just shooting anyone that crossed his path. Hot Rod was in no condition for a run-and-gun escape. He needed a new plan and fast. Deadlock hoped it was imagination, but Hot Rod felt a little cooler than when he first leaned against him. 

“Hot Rod, I-” 

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A series of deafening explosions rocked the ship. 

The walls shook and the entire vessel listed hard to port, throwing Deadlock and Hot Rod across the small room. Hot Rod screamed as his brutalized frame slammed into the unforgiving wall, reopening some of the field repairs he had done on himself. He shivered and choked back a sob. Deadlock’s spark twisted in his chest. 

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Another set of explosions set the ship reeling back to starboard. 

Deadlock leapt across the rapidly slanting floor and grabbed Hot Rod. Perhaps a little too roughly. Ignoring the way Hot Rod’s vents hitched, Deadlock pulled him close and curled his frame around him. Whatever was happening to the ship, he had to protect Hot Rod. Like Hot Rod did for him when the Iron Bridge rained down around them. They tumbled together as the ship violently rolled. 

To his surprise, Hot Rod returned Deadlock’s embrace, snugging himself tightly against his heavy armor. The ship lurched again, groaning as the ceiling collapsed in a shower of hissing steam and twisted metal. Deadlock managed to roll at the last moment to shelter Hot Rod from most of the impact. The falling beams smashed into his back. His last memory before being knocked offline was of Hot Rod calling out his name like no one ever had. Like he really cared.


	3. Nobody Cares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadlock wakes up in the darkness, pinned down by debris and waking nightmares of his time struggling for survival in the Dead End. He may have been alone in the past, but this time Nobody is right beside him.

Deadlock snapped online all at once. A heavy weight pressed down around him, pinning his arms at his sides. He thrashed in the darkness to no avail. This can’t be happening. 

A flood of unwelcome memories threatened to sweep him away. If only he could reach his guns. He was a Decepticon now. Megatron took him away from the Dead End and made him stronger than before. Don’t be afraid. 

The debris closed in tighter. Steam from shattered pipe lines hissed like jeering laughter. Sparks from snapped electrical relays burned his plating. 

He struggled frantically against the oppressive weight, flailing in vain against the nightmares. If he could just get out. If he could only get away... 

no. No. NO! He was back in the Dead End. Alone. Held down by one massive bruiser while the other relentlessly pummeled him. One drink of bad engex had slowed his reflexes enough that he couldn’t pull off his usual escape routine. He violently twisted his frame, knowing that he couldn’t get away. Their taunting laughter rang in his audials. His energon dripped from their fists and splashed into the gutter. His plating burned where it split under their assault. Energon from ruptured fuel lines bleed into his vocal processor. He couldn’t even scream. 

Shutting his optics against the inevitable flow of tears, he swallowed a sob. Nobody cares. Nobody ever came to save him. Nobody- 

“DEADLOCK!” 

The crackled and garbled shout of his name broke him out of his spiraling flash back. His vents hissed sharply. 

“Deadlock! Hold on! I’m coming!” 

“Hot Rod?” He whimpered, burning with shame. So much for all of his swaggering confidence and Decepticon firepower. Deadlock shuddered and willed his whining vent fans to slow down. “I’m-” He didn’t know what to say. Trapped? Stuck? Pathetic? 

“Take it easy. I’m here.” 

Deadlock focused all of his attention on the soft wheeze of Hot Rod’s laboring vents. Everything else, the distant emergency sirens, the metallic groan of the ship rending itself apart, the percussive thump of exploding ordinance, faded into the background. 

“But- But nobody’s ever-” 

“Nobody’s right here! Don’t worry!” Hot Rod dragged himself up onto the enormous beam pinning Deadlock down and propped his chin up on his busted knuckles. “Miss me?” 

“How did you-?” Deadlock asked instead of blurting out 'more than anything.’ 

“When this big bastard fell,” Hot Rod patted the beam slowly crushing the life out of Deadlock, “You threw me out into the hallway like an empty engex cube. Bouncing off the floor introduced me to a whole new spectrum of pain, so thanks for that.” He winced and rubbed a few reopened cracks on his chest, streaking energon across his flame decals. A hint of dazzling blue spark light shone at the edges of one of the broken seams. “Aww!” he moaned. “Some of my welds failed.” 

Deadlock shivered. A vague memory of Hot Rod screaming tugging at his processor. No wonder he blocked it out. 

“All things considered, I guess it’s better than being smashed.” Hot Rod shrugged. “Now. Let’s get you out of there.” 

“How?” Deadlock struggled but made no progress. Hot Rod was in no condition to walk, let alone move this giant beam. He thought about telling him to go, but he couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone. Trapped. Vulnerable. 

“Relax. I’m not going anywhere without you.” Hot Rod grinned like he guessed Deadlock’s thoughts. Smile turning a little sheepish, Hot Rod chewed his bottom lip. “Promise not to freak out. Okay?” 

Hot Rod clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. WHOOSH! Red hot flames sparked to life across his plating and wreathed his forearms up to his elbows. He curled his tongue out around his lip in concentration and flexed his fingers. The flames intensified to blazing white. 

Deadlock stared, jaw dropping. Hot Rod burned like a blood-stained god of vengeance pulled straight from one of his strung-out hallucinations. The fresh energon bleeding from his wounds shone like liquid fire. Brilliant spark light shone through his cracked chest plate and played off the flickering tongues of fire. His functional optic flared vibrant cerulean while the dark one reflected the vermilion inferno dancing along his arms. Far more than a beaten prisoner, Hot Rod was an awe-inspiring force of nature. Deadlock’s spark stopped in his chest. Maybe he did destroy Nyon. In that moment, Deadlock believed that he could do anything. 

Hot Rod grabbed the beam to side of where it pinned Deadlock with both hands and began to squeeze. The thick metal instantly heated through glowing orange to blazing white and melted in his grasp. 

Careful to avoid the dripping globs of molten metal, Deadlock pushed all his strength against the weakening beam. It shifted enough to free his arms. He grabbed the beam and shoved it. Hot Rod torched another point of contact to give Deadlock a little more room to move. 

“Okay. Full disclosure.” Hot Rod held Deadlock’s gaze. Utterly captivated, Deadlock didn’t dare look away. Hot Rod smiled, full of mischief. “I’m probably about to pass out.” 

“WHAT?!” Deadlock roared. He threw all of his weight forward and crashed out from under the debris. 

“It- it’s okay.” Hot Rod stammered, his flames dimming. “Sometimes it happens when I run this low.” 

“Low?” Deadlock frantically rushed to his side. Hot Rod just put himself in danger to save Deadlock. Again. He had to be okay. How many times had Deadlock awoke out of a nightmare, lost and alone, burning with the realization that nobody cared about him? He never thought that phrase would eventually provide all the comfort he so desperately sought. 

“Energon. The flames burn up a lot.” Hot Rod’s rapidly cooling frame slumped into Deadlock’s trembling arms. “I’m used to it though. Disabled my own warning systems ages ago. Tired of them screaming at me all the damn time.” 

“But-” Deadlock disabled his own low fuel warning systems for the same reason. He never thought anyone else did that. 

“S’fine… Just gimme… a minute… to reboot...” Hot Rod sagged limply against Deadlock’s chest. His functional optic flickered and went dark. 

Idiot. Deadlock wasn’t sure it he meant that more to himself or Hot Rod. How could Hot Rod run himself so low as to pass out with a stranger? Despite how many times Hot Rod had saved him, they didn’t know each other that well. Didn’t he realize the danger that he put himself in?! Trusting so freely was either the mark of extreme bravery or terminal stupidity. Deadlock had a feeling that with Hot Rod, it was probably 50/50. 

Deadlock’s engine whined. Hot Rod had lost so much energon. Then used up even more to save him. Cradling the unconscious speedster, Deadlock ran through his options. He could donate fuel through a direct transfer, but he didn’t know how. Siphoning was the only transfer technique he ever bothered to learn. He canted his finials back. All he knew how to do was take. 

He maneuvered Hot Rod on to his side, careful not to put pressure on his ruined spoiler. Deadlock placed a tentative hand on his chest, drawing comfort in his spark's steady hum. Hot Rod said he only needed a minute to reboot. Deadlock hoped he was right. 

Driven by the need to do something other than wait idly in silence, he decided to find out what is going on with the ship. Still gently cradling Hot Rod across his lap, he switched on his comm link. He vented deeply and slipped into the familiar rage that he wore like armor. “Turmoil!” He roared. “What the hell is going on?!” 

“Deadlock! So, you ARE alive! Where have you been? You haven’t answered your comm.” Deadlock could barely hear Turmoil over a cacophony of frantic shouting and blaring klaxons. 

“I got stuck when the ceiling became the floor.” Deadlock muttered. He deliberately left out all the details about him panicking under the debris. Never show weakness. “Answer my question!” 

“It’s not your place to demand anything from me, but it’s the fragging Autobots, if you must know.” Turmoil answered then continued to shout orders on the bridge. “Get those shields online. NOW! What do you mean they’re gone?! GET THEM BACK!” A single gunshot cracked through the tumult. “Someone else get to work on those shields!” Turmoil returned his attention to Deadlock. “Sorry about that. It’s so hard to find good help these days.” 

“Autobots?” Deadlock’s grip on Hot Rod tightened. He protectively drew him closer. 

“Yeah. A fragging Galaxy class destroyer just appeared on our stern and blasted our main thrusters all to hell. The explosions set off a chain reaction through all the fuel lines. The ship is a lost cause. Between their artillery strikes and the internal explosions, it’s only a matter of time before it blows. I’ve already ordered a partial evacuation. I just can’t figure out how they finally found us.” 

Something stirred in Deadlock’s arms. He glanced down to find Hot Rod slowly waking up. The idiot had the audacity to smirk at him and mime a gun with his fingers. He mouthed “Bang!” as his imaginary gun recoiled. Deadlock rolled his optics despite the overwhelming sense of relief flooding his spark. 

“I have a pretty good idea,” he deadpanned. 

Turmoil let silence fill the comm link as the realization crashed down on him. Unbeknownst to him, his ambition played right into Hot Rod’s broken hands. Months of careful strategy has been undone by one brave idiot with too many flame decals simply trying to save his friends. 

“Oh scrap. Do you really think-?” Turmoil lowered his voice. 

“Yes.” Deadlock struggled to keep his tone even as Hot Rod’s snickering tickled his frame. 

“That explains the boarding party fighting their way through the hanger bay.” 

Deadlock’s finials perked up. The Autobots really were searching for Hot Rod. Right here on their ship! Maybe getting Hot Rod to Ratchet won’t be so hard after all! 

“Megatron can’t find out. About any of this,” Turmoil whispered. 

“Who all knows?” 

“Just me, you, and the three members of Delta squad.” 

“I'll take care of them.” A wicked grin spread across Deadlock’s face. He bared his fangs with a growl. Truth be told, after seeing what they did to Hot Rod, he vowed to kill them all anyways. Now it put Turmoil in his debt. It’s a win-win situation. 

“And the prisoner?” Turmoil drawled. 

Deadlock met Hot Rod's optics. His voice softened more than he intended. “I’ll take care of him too.” 

“See that you do,” Turmoil commanded. “Or don’t bother showing up at the emergency regrouping coordinates. Get to it.” With that, the comm link went dead.


	4. Take Care of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After using his flames in his battered state, Hot Rod's condition deteriorates. Deadlock vows to get him to Ratchet no matter what. 
> 
> And carrying someone does NOT count as a hug!!

Another explosion reverberated through the walls of the dying Worldsweeper. Percussive thumping of weapons’ fire echoed down the debris laden halls. Time was running short. 

“So.” Hot Rod held Deadlock’s gaze with his one functional optic. “What are you going to do with me?” 

“Just like I told my crankshaft commander: Take care of you.” 

“Like you’re going to ‘take care of’ those bots that beat me up?” Hot Rod made the air quote motion with his scuffed fingers. His mood darkened. “You don’t have to kill anybody for me.” 

“Fine. I won’t.” Deadlock shrugged. Then his face curled into a wicked fanged grin. “I’ll kill them because _I_ want to.” 

“Hmm...” Hot Rod’s expression lightened like the sun coming back out from behind the clouds. “I guess that’s okay, then.” 

“Good.” Deadlock’s wolfish grin softened. “But as for you... I’m going to take care of you properly and make sure you get back to Ratchet. I swear on my spark.” 

“That sounds pretty responsible! You sure you’re not in the market for a pet?” Hot Rod snickered, recalling their first conversation in the ruins of the Iron Bridge. “Although, I’ve been told that I can be a handful.” 

“I never wanted a pet. Too much work.” Deadlock rolled his optics. He turned away and stared at the floor. “Kinda always wanted a friend though,” he muttered, mostly to himself. 

Deadlock practically jumped out of his armor when a firm grip squeezed his shoulder. His optics went from the scuffed golden fingers to the impossibly bright smile on Hot Rod’s face. 

“Me too.” 

Deadlock shifted, feeling uncomfortably exposed. Why had he said that? Why was it so easy to admit to Hot Rod? Deadlock realized that he hadn’t thrown off Hot Rod’s touch yet. He told himself it was simply because he didn’t want to damage the speedster any further. 

“Whatever.” Deadlock grunted. 

Hot Rod giggled. Deadlock ignored how it made his spark sing and abruptly changed the subject. 

“Do you know how to syphon fuel?” 

“What?” Hot Rod froze, his half spoiler drooping. 

“Audials not working?” 

Hot Rod shook his head and narrowed his functional optic. “Why would you ask that?” 

“Because.” Deadlock squirmed. He had already committed to seeing Hot Rod safely to Ratchet and that meant confronting some uncomfortable topics. Many times, in the Dead End, Deadlock had to steal fuel from dead or unconscious bots. It was either that or starve. At least he had the decency to only syphon from bots who didn’t realize what was happening, although others rarely extended the same courtesy to him. “You are dangerously low on fuel. I mean, you already passed out once. If you run completely empty on the way to the Autobots, then what?” 

“I’m fine.” Hot Rod curled around himself. Deadlock canted his finials back. Hot Rod had been taken prisoner, savagely beaten and ran himself low enough to prompt an involuntary shut down. Yet, he looked more vulnerable now than he had all day. 

“No. You’re not.” Deadlock pried open his own fuel port and extended his arm towards Hot Rod. “You need fuel. I don’t have any extra energon, but I recently refueled. I’m offering to donate. It’s not hard. I can talk you through it.” 

“I know how.” Hot Rod snapped. A strange ferocity burned in his optic. “I just never did it on someone... you know... not dead.” 

Deadlock’s optics widened. He never thought any Autobot would know such an unsavory survival method. Maybe they had even more in common than he realized. 

“Same principle,” Deadlock shrugged. “Maybe even better since the fuel’s warm instead of all cold and congealed. In fact, if you-” Deadlock bit his tongue. What was he doing?! Telling an Autobot this kind of scrap? Hunching his shoulders, he glanced up from his open fuel port waiting for Hot Rod’s face to twist into a judgmental sneer. Instead, Hot Rod’s expression softened. Deadlock bristled when he thought it was pity. Then he realized it was something far rarer: understanding. 

“Primus.” Hot Rod sighed, visibly relaxing. “So… Life sucked in Rodion, too.” Tension bled out of Deadlock’s shoulders. Hot Rod’s gentle smile sharpened into something more mischievous. “Sometimes literally!” He opened his forearm’s fuel port and withdrew the syphon hose. “Get it? Because when you syphon fuel, you-” 

“Oh my god.” Deadlock stared at him. “Are you making puns about stealing energon?” 

“Hell yes I am!” Hot Rod snickered which dissolved into another coughing fit. “It’s nice to have someone who gets it. None of the other Autobots have any idea about this kind of scrap. Or if they do, they’d never admit it.” 

“You are ridiculous.” Deadlock chuckled in spite of himself. Hot Rod brightened at the sound of Deadlock’s laughter. 

“Takes one to know one!” Hot Rod grinned as he attached his fuel cable. “Since I might need my flames again, I’ll take you up on your offer. I’m only gonna borrow a little, okay?” 

“It’s not borrowing. I’m freely giving it away. You can have it,” Deadlock rolled his optics, bracing himself. “It’s not like I’m gonna take it back.” He felt the gentle tug on his system as Hot Rod switched his fuel pump into reverse to syphon Deadlock’s energon. Deadlock blinked. It didn’t hurt at all. He had his fuel forcibly stolen more times than he wished to remember and it was always terribly painful. But this time? With Hot Rod leaning on his side, softly humming some half-forgotten tune? It felt... Sorta... Nice? 

They sat together among the scattered rubble in companionable silence. Hot Rod curled against Deadlock’s side, careful not to pinch the transfer cable linking their arms. The Worldsweeper shuddered and groaned as it twisted apart adding a subtle reminder of that war that raged around them. 

Suddenly dropping his tune, Hot Rod looked up at him. “Hey? Can I ask you a question?” 

“Technically you just did.” Deadlock responded flatly. His plating tensed up. What could Hot Rod possibly want to ask? Probably something about why he knows so much about syphoning fuel. He never should have said so much. Maybe he’s wondering why Deadlock panicked under the collapsed ceiling. Deadlock shuddered. He really didn’t want to revisit those memories again. Or maybe he wants to know why Deadlock didn’t come to save him earlier. If he’d have known, he would have come. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself everything he looks at Hot Rod’s terrible condition. His brain started to spiral towards panic again. Or maybe he- 

“Do you like to race?” 

“What?” Deadlock blinked. 

“Racing. It’s when a group of cars get together and drive around a set course to see who’s fastest.” 

“I know what racing is, you lugnut,” Deadlock scoffed. 

“Well then...” Hot Rod waited. He snugged a little closer to Deadlock’s side. He felt colder. Deadlock shivered. Someone that housed a raging inferno within their plating should never feel this cold. Deadlock cast a sideways glance at Hot Rod and startled. When did he wrap his arm around the little speedster’s shoulder? Deadlock told himself that he only did it to keep Hot Rod steady while he finishes drawing out his fuel and not for any other reason. 

“It’s been a long time since I raced anyone for anything,” Deadlock began, “but I do remember enjoying it.” His mind wandered to long dusty roads on the outskirts of Rodion. When they had a little extra energon, he and Gasket used to go out and just drive as fast as they could. It was stupid, and irresponsible, and the closet to true freedom that he ever felt. 

“I knew you would!” Hot Rod grinned. “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a secret non-factional race gathering held at the beginning of every stellar cycle. That’s coming up really soon! I always sneak away and race in it. You have to come!” 

“But... There’s a war going on.” 

“So what?” Hot Rod shrugged. “Life was terrible a lot of times in Nyon too. It’s not like I’m gonna stop living it.” 

“But... You’re barely alive now.” 

“Again, so what? I’m already doing a lot better thanks to you.” 

Deadlock winced. Sharing a little fuel was the bare minimum he could do. The ship shuddered as another explosion tore through the hull. They really needed to get moving. He had to get Hot Rod back to the Autobots soon or they would miss their chance. They might not even survive the next few minutes and Hot Rod wanted to go racing. Deadlock was unsure if that was endearingly optimistic or frustratingly irresponsible. 

Apparently sensing the time-sensitive nature of their current situation, Hot Rod carefully disconnected his cable from Deadlock’s fuel port. “I uploaded the next race’s secret location directly to your navigational data bank. Now you gotta come!” 

“You did what?!” Deadlock checked his map data. Sure enough, there was a new location marked on an out of the way desert planet. At once furious and giddy, he carefully saved the data and closed his fuel port access panel. If they survived, he just might consider going. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity now that he had the location data. “We still have to get you back to the Autobots. What if you don’t survive?” 

“I’ll be fine. As long as Ratchet can fix my spoiler.” Hot Rod cast of rueful glance over his shoulder and sighed. He twitched the remaining half of his spoiler in a brilliant flash of gold. “Ouch. Aside from its loss effecting my stability, I can’t bear to be seen without it.” 

“I’m seeing you right now.” 

“That’s different.” Hot Rod smiled. “You’re my friend.” 

Deadlock stiffened. Sure, he mentioned that he always wanted a friend before, but... Hot Rod just said it so nonchalantly. Like their friendship was simply a fact of the universe. Deadlock had to fight and claw for everything he ever owned. How could Hot Rod just give away something so precious for free? 

“Come on,” Deadlock stood up and offered his hand to Hot Rod. “If we don’t get you to Ratchet, you’ll never get that spoiler rebuilt.” 

“Listen.” Hot Rod clenched his fists and drew in a long vent. He reached up and weakly grasped Deadlock’s hand with shaky fingers. Holding Deadlock’s gaze, he continued softly, “Whatever happens, I just want to say Thank You. For everything that you’ve done for me.” 

Deadlock canted his finials back. He’s the one that should be thanking Hot Rod. He’s saved him in more ways than Deadlock knew how to describe, but something in Hot Rod’s tone unsettled him. It had an air of resignation that set a chill in Deadlock’s spark. He gently pulled the speedster to his feet. Hot Rod’s legs gave out in a shower of sparks and he collapsed with a gasp. Deadlock instantly dropped to his knees beside him unsure of what to do. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Hot Rod rapidly repeated, like if he said it enough times it might be true. “You should go. I’ll make my own way.” Drawing himself up to his hands and knees, he mustered a half smile though his face twisted in pain. “I’m used to it. It’s okay. You’d be surprised what I can survive.” 

“No way. You never left me when I needed help.” 

“But-” 

“I can carry you!” Deadlock reached out to the trembling speedster. 

“NO!” Hot Rod flinched away. Deadlock’s spark clenched. “You can’t touch my back. I’m trying so hard but it just- It just hurts.” His light dimmed. “Everything hurts.” 

Deadlock’s rage rose inside him. His engine roared over the symphony of destruction accompanying the dying Worldsweeper. The only thing that kept him from storming out of this cell to murder Delta squad right this second was the dying Autobot beside him. He’s had so few friends during his long life. He couldn’t bear to lose another one. 

“I won’t hurt you.” Kneeling in front of Hot Rod, Deadlock fixed him with his crimson optics. Willing him to understand the strength of his promise when he didn’t have the words to convey it. 

Hot Rod’s vent hitched, but he nodded. 

Deadlock squared his shoulders, recalling one of his few good memories. Deadlock had exhausted himself striving to win one of their little racing sessions. Too tired and low on fuel to drive, Gasket somehow managed to carry him. He remembered throwing his arms around Gasket’s neck and snugging himself tightly to his chest. His plating twitched at the thought of someone holding on to him, but he could deal with it for Hot Rod’s sake. 

“Here.” Deadlock tentatively leaned towards Hot Rod. “Put your arms around my neck.” 

Another tremor rippled through the ship. Hot Rod quickly grabbed onto Deadlock. 

“Now, do you think you can hook your legs around my waist?” 

“As long as I don’t have to put any weight on them!” Hot Rod followed Deadlock’s instructions, snugging himself firmly against his heavily armored chest. 

Deadlock carefully wrapped one arm around Hot Rod’s lower back, mindful to not touch any of the weeping gashes. He cautiously rose to his feet, lifting the injured speedster. Confident that he could support Hot Rod with just one arm, Deadlock drew one of his pistols with the other. Just in case. 

“Ready?” Deadlock asked as he armed his weapon. 

“Ya know,” Hot Rod buried his face against Deadlock’s neck cables and squeezed him tightly, “If you needed a hug, all you had to do was ask.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“Just sayin’.” Hot Rod giggled and squeezed him again. 

“We better get moving,” Deadlock ignored the warmth spreading through his circuits and the way his engine purred as Hot Rod’s laughter tickled his frame. “I think you're getting delirious.”


	5. Off to the Races

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadlock promised to take care of Hot Rod. He WILL get him to Ratchet for repairs. Nothing can stop him, not Delta Squad and not even Optimus Prime himself.

Deadlock gripped Hot Rod tightly to his chest as they hustled down the rapidly deteriorating hallways. He skidded to a stop in front of a collapsed doorway. Scrap. Another impassible path. 

Uttering a creative string of curses, Deadlock holstered his weapon and pawed at the debris hoping for a way through. Although he hadn’t spoken since they left the prison block, Hot Rod snickered at Deadlock’s latest tirade. Swearing his way through a maddening string of blocked routes, Deadlock had learned that apparently Hot Rod found profanity hilarious. Which was of course ridiculous, immature, and maybe slightly adorable. 

Quickly recalculating yet another emergency detour to the shuttle bay, he spun around and backtracked towards the stairs. Racing up the steps two at a time, he prayed to a god that he didn’t believe existed that the upper hallways remained passable. If he didn’t get Hot Rod to the Autobots soon, they might abandon their search to get clear of the dying Worldsweeper. Even in death, these ships cut an impressively destructive swath through the galaxy. The exploding fuel core would vaporize anything caught within its expansive blast radius. 

Hot Rod had gone quiet a while ago, focusing his waning strength on desperately clinging to Deadlock’s frame. Deadlock knew he was still online because he could feel his slight movements on his plating. Although Hot Rod never once complained or cried out, he would flinch or shiver anytime Deadlock took a turn too sharply or roughly dodged falling debris. Deadlock’s spark broke a little more with every reminder of Hot Rod’s pain. He vowed to get him to Ratchet if he had to claw his way there with his bare hands. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Deadlock’s spark swelled. Finally! A clear path! He turned sharply towards the shuttle bay, gripped Hot Rod a little tighter and took off running as fast as he could. The high-pitched whine of his turbo chargers sharply echoed down the hall. Nearing a four-way intersection, Deadlock backed off his speed to make the right turn. 

Rounding the bend as fast as comfortable for Hot Rod, Deadlock slammed into a staggeringly solid mass. He stumbled backwards and the shuddering hiss of Hot Rod’s vent fans sliced through his spark. Deadlock’s widening optics filled with a vision of blue and purple. Delta Squad! 

“HEY!” The blue one sneered, his burned arm still hanging limp at his side. “Watch where you’re going!” 

“Deadlock?! Now’s not really the time to be playing with the Autobot runt.” The purple one scoffed, sparks fizzling in his empty eye socket. 

Hot Rod flinched at the sound of their voices and that was all the motivation the Deadlock needed. With one fluid motion, he twisted away from the two surprised bots to shield Hot Rod from any attempt they might make to grab him and drew his pistol with his free hand. 

Deadlock roared, ferocious anger burning in his chest. Although he paled in comparison to Hot Rod’s brilliant majesty, he would protect him. No one would ever touch him again. He channeled all of his rage into the firearm that he wielded like an extension of his own body, firing six rapid shots. Each bullet struck its intended target: the brain, t-cog, and spark. Deadlock was nothing if not thorough. The blue and purple members of Delta squad clattered to the ground, dead before they even realized they were ever in danger. 

Standing over their graying corpses, something tugged at Deadlock’s processor through the haze of rage. He was missing some crucial detail. 

“DEADLOCK!” A warm hand pressed down on his helm. “GET DOWN!!” 

Deadlock instantly dropped to his knees just as a shot cracked above him, clipping the edge of his finial. The third member of Delta Squad, still limping from when Hot Rod destroyed his knee cap, arrived on the scene a few moments after his companions. Just in time to watch Deadlock murder them with extreme efficiency. 

“Traitor!” The green one yelled, locking Deadlock in his gun sights. “What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“I got this!” Hot Rod narrowed his optics and flames sprung to life along one forearm. 

A flash of heat raced along Deadlock’s side as Hot Rod whipped one arm up. A raging inferno poured from the dented silver pipes on Hot Rod’s trembling forearm. The fireball struck the last member of Delta squad with such intensity that he didn’t even have time to cry out. Deadlock shielded his optics against the violent brightness. Unlike the steel beam, the tall green bot didn’t melt, he instantly vaporized into dust like he was struck by the sun itself. Deadlock wondered if Hot Rod truly was some type of manifestation of divine energy. 

“You- You saved me.” Deadlock blinked. Spots hovered in his vision as Hot Rod’s personal solar flare dissipated. 

“I was only able to make more fire because you shared your energon with me.” Hot Rod grinned and blew the smoke trailing from his pipes like a smoking gun barrel. “We make a pretty good team!” 

“Although... You didn’t have to kill anyone for me. I could have gotten him.” 

“Relax!” Hot Rod huffed, settling weakly against Deadlock’s shoulder. “I torched that rusted tailpipe for _myself_. He was the one who tore off my spoiler and beat me with it.” 

“He beat you?! With your own spoiler?!” Deadlock holstered his weapon and curled protectively around Hot Rod’s fading fire. Suddenly the gash wounds lacerating Hot Rod’s back made terrible sense. Deadlock knew Delta squad preferred bare fists to bladed weaponry. He had wondered what they used to make those cuts, but didn’t dare ask. Knowing the answer made the fuel churn in his tank. 

“Yeah. And laughed the whole time. Like it was real fragging hilarious. Then he stomped it into a million pieces.” Hot Rod narrowed his optics and smiled grimly at the scorched stain of metallic dust on the floor. His engine rumbled against Deadlock’s chest and his mangled spoiler hitched up defiantly. “Who’s laughin’ now, jerk?” 

Deadlock felt a strange camaraderie with Hot Rod. He understood things that no one else does. An unexpected ferocity burned within that tiny frame. His reverie was cut short when Hot Rod’s grip around his neck slackened. 

“HEY?!” Deadlock jostled him lightly, unsuccessfully keeping the panic from his voice. “Are you alright?” 

“Hmm... Fine...” Hot Rod flashed a lopsided grin over slurred words. “Burned too hot... On too little fuel... Need to reboot again... Sorry...” With that apology, Hot Rod slipped offline, leaving Deadlock alone in the darkness of his dying ship. 

Deadlock held him tightly for a moment. If he rested his chin on Hot Rod’s helm, it must have been only because he was tired. 

The ship rumbled again, renewing Deadlock’s sense of urgency. With Hot Rod’s arms draped limply across his shoulders, Deadlock carefully placed his hand on his wounded back to hold him steady. Grimacing at the warm energon seeping between his fingers, Deadlock ran as fast as he could. 

The familiar sounds of a fierce battle grew louder. Deadlock’s spark spun a little faster. The Autobots must still be on board! 

He skidded to an abrupt stop at the door into the shuttle bay. After their numerous detours, they arrived at the upper level catwalk. Deadlock crouched down, drawing Hot Rod close as the sharp report of gunfire cut through frantic shouting. He made sure to adjust his grip on the wounded speedster so it wouldn’t hurt when he woke up, which Deadlock desperately hoped would be soon. 

From his hidden perch, Deadlock surveyed the battle raging below. The Autobots did indeed breach their security to land a small shuttle in the hanger bay. Several soldiers sporting red badges fanned out to form a perimeter around their means of escape. Although they fought bravely, they hadn’t made much progress. The waves of Dececpticons keeping them pinned down must not have gotten the memo about the ship falling apart. Then again, Turmoil said he only ordered a partial evacuation. Deadlock canted his finials back. These soldiers were meant to go down with the ship. 

They were so close. Now he just had to figure out how to get their attention without getting himself and Hot Rod killed in the process. While Deadlock mentally ran through his options, someone leapt onto a mound of debris in the center of the huge space, firing sweeping bursts of gunfire into the Decepticon defenders. His crimson optics widened. 

There, right in the midst of the battle, stood Optimus Prime. The Autobot commander himself. All blue and red and right out in the open. The only way he could make himself a bigger target was if he held a flashing neon bullseye in front of his chest. 

Still gently clutching Hot Rod, Deadlock automatically drew his sidearm with his free hand. From their hidden vantage point of the catwalk, he had a perfectly clear shot. No one even realized they were up here. He chambered a round and raised the gun, locking Optimus in his sights. Deadlock narrowed his optics and slipped his finger onto the trigger. He could end the war. Right now. His marksmanship was excellent, he wouldn’t miss. From this close range, not even Optimus Prime could survive a triple shot like he used against Delta Squad. 

Deadlock tensed, cycling his vent fans. He didn’t hesitate pulling the trigger on two of his own soldiers a few minutes ago. Why did he waver now? It would be so easy. Wasn’t this what they were fighting for? To win? Without Optimus, the Autobots would fall apart. 

But if the Autobots fall apart, where would that leave Hot Rod? 

While maintaining his aim, Deadlock cast a sideways glance at the battered speedster nestled against his side. His laboring fans vented warm air against Deadlock’s neck cables. Although he was far tougher than he looked, even Hot Rod’s divine fire had limits. Without Ratchet’s skill, he would surely die. In the wake of Optimus Prime’s death, even Ratchet might forget all about searching for one missing soldier. They could escape together, but Deadlock couldn’t manage such complex repairs on his own. 

With one hand holding his gun trained on Optimus Prime and the other supporting the wounded Hot Rod, Deadlock literally held the balance of their entire war in his hands. He had to weigh the fate of millions against that of one small speedster. 

If he kills Optimus Prime, right now, Deadlock would win the war and lose Hot Rod. 

As that terrible realization crashed down on him, Deadlock flipped the safety on and holstered his weapon. What good has anyone else ever done for him? Why should he care about the fate of millions? Hot Rod saved his life. Multiple times. But more than all of that, he was his friend. He said so himself. He _cared_ about him. And maybe, just maybe, Deadlock cared about him too. Hot Rod was worth more than the rest of the entire universe put together. There never really was any other choice. 

Blissfully unaware of his recent mortal danger, Optimus cupped his face plate with his massive blue hands and shouted at full volume. “HOT ROD!! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!” 

Deadlock rolled his optics. How could that moron even think that would work? As far as he knew, Hot Rod could be anywhere. Despite his initial derision, he detected a slight stirring in the battered speedster. His blue optic flickered on and Deadlock almost fell over with relief. 

“Hey.” Hot Rod smiled weakly. 

“Hey yourself.” Tears welled up in Deadlock’s optics. It had to be because of all the smoke billowing from scattered burning debris. He scrubbed his face with the heel of his palm. Stupid fragging smoke. 

“I must have been dreaming.” Hot Rod vented deeply, voice barely audible through the worsening static. “Could’ve swore that I heard-” 

“HOT ROD!!” Optimus bellowed again, voice breaking. 

This time, Deadlock acted without hesitation. He gripped Hot Rod tightly and shouted, “UP HERE!” 

“HOT ROD?!” Optimus turned in their direction, hope shining in his brilliant blue optics. 

“YEAH!” Deadlock yelled again. “AND I NEED HELP! I'M HURT BAD!!” 

“HOLD ON!” Optimus bounded across the makeshift battlefield. Deadlock watched in awe as he shook off anyone that tried to stop him. No wonder Megatron always spoke so highly of his rival. “I’M COMING!” 

“Optimus, WAIT!” A scarred red bruiser that Deadlock recognized from his personnel files as Ironhide threw himself in front of the Autobot commander. “What if it’s a trap?” 

Prime easily dodged his heavier frame and continued undeterred. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Hot Rod put himself in danger to save the rest of us. The very least I can do is take a chance for him!” 

A begrudging smile spread across Deadlock’s face. Enemy faction aside, anyone willing to risk their lives for Hot Rod couldn’t be all bad. 

Deadlock blinked in shock when Optimus took two more bounding strides and leapt up, catching the edge of the catwalk and hauling himself up into their hiding place. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he called out, but that definitely wasn’t it. 

“Hot Rod! Thank Primus!” The relief in Optimus’ voice quickly hardened into steel as he took in the extent of Hot Rod’s injuries. “By the Matrix! What did they do to you?!” 

“A whole lot that I don’t want to talk about.” Hot Rod’s weak smile curled into a smirk. “Told you my plan would work.” 

“Yes, but-” Finally noticing the Decepticon warrior gently supporting his mangled soldier, Optimus moved to draw his weapon. “Deadlock-?!” 

“Saved my life!” Hot Rod cut him off and used a precious amount of his waning energy to maneuver himself between his friend and his commander. Deadlock didn’t want him to hurt himself any further, but the gesture warmed his spark. 

To Deadlock’s infinite surprise, Optimus instantly straightened up and bowed – BOWED!! - to him. “Then you have my gratitude. Thank you for protecting Hot Rod.” 

Still in shock, Deadlock offered a curt nod. 

“Is Ratchet with you?” Deadlock asked. No sense in wasting any time. “Hot Rod needs emergency medical attention.” 

“Yes. Of course.” Optimus turned slightly away from them and activated his comm link. “Ratchet! I found him! No. No. It’s... He’s in pretty bad shape.” The commander’s shoulders sagged. 

Deadlock winced. Although he couldn’t quite make out the words, he could hear Ratchet shouting at Prime through the comm link. Ratchet never did like to see anyone suffer. He had zero tolerance for cruelty. Deadlock wasn’t sure how he could even function in the war. 

“I know... But he’s alive. Thanks to Deadlock. You heard me. Prepare everything you have. Yeah. It’s that bad. We’ll be back on the shuttle in a few minutes. Have Ironhide rally the troops and prepare for departure. Yeah. Me too.” 

While Optimus Prime finished his conversation with Ratchet, Hot Rod squeezed Deadlock with as much energy as he could muster. Deadlock returned his embrace because, after all they’ve been through, it would be rude not to. 

“Thank you.” Hot Rod nuzzled his neck cables. 

Deadlock shrugged, unsure of what to say. 

“Okay.” Optimus turned back to them. Deadlock protectively tightened his grip on Hot Rod. “I told Ratchet to prepare pretty much all the supplies that we have. Don’t worry. Hot Rod will be in good hands.” 

Deadlock canted his finials back. He knew that. Ratchet was the only medic he would trust to take care of Hot Rod. 

Optimus knelt down and reached out. Deadlock flinched away, suddenly reluctant to let go of the fiery speedster clinging to his frame. Another explosion rocked the ship. 

“We have to go.” 

Hot Rod tugged on Deadlock’s shoulder. “You sure you don’t wanna come?” 

Deadlock shook his head. The Decepticons took his from the Dead End and gave him power. He never considered leaving, until now... 

“I have business to attend to.” Deadlock growled as he carefully placed Hot Rod into the safety of Optimus Prime’s strong arms. He double-checked the map data that Hot Rod had uploaded and flashed a fanged grin. “There’s a race coming up that I wouldn’t want to miss.” 

A brilliant smile lit up Hot Rod’s face despite his frame shuddering in pain as Optimus adjusted his grip. That smile broadened and curled into something mischievous. Deadlock turned to leave as Optimus prepared to leap back across the battlefield, sheltering his precious cargo. 

“Deadlock, wait!” Hot Rod called out as loud as his failing vocal processor would let him. 

Deadlock halted. 

“I want you to know something... It’s important.” Hot Rod grinned with all the brightness of a thousand suns. “Nobody cares about you! Remember that!!” 

Deadlock spun around so Hot Rod couldn’t see how his face instantly lit up bright pink. His face burned so brightly the glow radiated up to the tips of his finials. Deadlock didn’t know which was worse, Hot Rod’s coughing laughter or Optimus Prime’s scandalized stammering. 

“H- HOT ROD!” Optimus gasped, blue optics flaring. “That’s- That’s a terrible thing to say to anyone! Let alone someone who just saved your life!” 

“I meant what I said.” Hot Rod replied with conviction. 

Deadlock glowed brighter. He knew Hot Rod noticed his intense blush when he laughed harder, giggles dissolving into static. Idiot. 

“D- Deadlock!” Prime stammered. “I- I’m SO sorry. He-He’s probably delirious.” 

Well, if that’s how he wants to play it… 

“Don’t worry about it, Prime.” Deadlock growled. He cast a glance over his shoulder with a wolfish grin and purred, “It’s none of your business.” 

Hot Rod's functional optic flared bright blue, matching the brilliant spark light shining from his cracked chest plate. His cheeks glowed and tiny flames shimmered along the edge of his ruined spoiler. Deadlock winked. He could hear Hot Rod’s vents wheeze from across the room. 

Smiling as he transformed and sped off to find an escape pod, Deadlock found himself really looking forward to visiting an out of the way desert planet. He’d have to visit the supply depot and pick up a new set of racing tires.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> I appreciate your kudos and love reading your comments!!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at: [lush-specimen.tumblr.com](https://lush-specimen.tumblr.com)


End file.
